


Ripcord

by foil



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, M/M, Rape Recovery, nurse suga, shifting pov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foil/pseuds/foil
Summary: Suga and Daichi mediate a very fragile reunion between Noya and Asahi as Noya recovers from a terrible act of violence.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a dark Asanoya/Daisuga fic that focuses on rape aftermath and rape recovery. Apologies for the liberties taken with the medical practices in this first chapter; I researched as best I could, but the information I found was limited (and American). Thank you for giving this a shot.

"Good, Daichi," Suga breathes into the phone, one hand cupped over his mouth. "You come into our apartment. All the lights are off, but there's soft music coming from the bedroom, and everything smells sweet and new and clean, like fresh laundry. What are you going to do, baby?"

Daichi's voice is a low, delicious rumble. "I walk toward the bedroom. I open the door, slowly."

"I'm waiting for you there under the covers. I'm so _hungry_ for you, Daichi. I—"

"I go into the kitchen."

Suga pauses. "You what?"

"I go into the kitchen, turn on the stove, and begin heating a frying pan. I gather three—no, _four_ eggs, some salt, half a tablespoon of butter—"

"Daichi, what the hell?" Suga says in his normal voice.

Brief, confused silence. "You said you were hungry?" says Daichi.

"I said I was hungry for _you_. You know. Sexually?"

"Oh," says Daichi, and the blandness of the reply sets Suga off laughing before he can politely cover the receiver. Daichi makes an embarrassed, indignant noise. "I mean, breakfast can be sexual! Breakfast in bed, even. And how do you know that wasn't innuendo? Like, 'I'll cook your eggs for you, sweetheart. I'll flip your pancakes—'"

"Stop, oh my god," Suga wheezes. "You are the worst at phone sex, Daichi. The absolute worst."

"No worse than Asahi!"

"And I am so charmed by you right now that I'm not even going to ask why you and Asahi have had phone sex."

Daichi starts sputtering, but Suga can’t get a grip, and soon the two of them are breathless with laughter. Suga feels his stomach warm with affection. He and Daichi have been together for almost seven years now, and each day is a blessing—not always easy or tender or joyous, but never without fierce, unwavering devotion. Sometimes, like now, every moment they're apart makes Suga ache a little more. He checks his phone for the time. Nine forty-seven, it reads. Only thirteen minutes left in his evening shift.

Suga's been working as a registered nurse since he graduated from university three years ago. He got his forensic certification last March, and though the work is immensely rewarding, nothing is more heartbreaking than actually having a patient to treat. That's why he's glad he made it through another day on nothing more than some post-op care, one sprained ankle, and, of course, some furtive, breakfast-themed phone sex. He's hiding in one of the backrooms now, idly restocking one of the med carts. Thinks he's gotten away with it, too, in the instant before his shift supervisor, Koko, opens the door and peeks her head inside.

"Sugawara?"

"Yes, Koko-san," says Suga, straightening. "Can I help with something?"

"Unfortunately, yes," she says. "We have a patient here who needs a sexual assault exam."

Suga's throat tightens, like it does every time. He hates this part, fucking _hates_ it, but it doesn't stop him from being grateful that he enrolled in the supplemental evidence-collection courses at school. He bows quickly, apologetically, and speaks quietly into his phone: "Need to go, baby. Gonna be home late." Koko watches him hang up and tuck his phone back into his pocket.

"I'm sorry, Suga-san," she says. "I know you were almost out of here; I do have a reason for asking you in particular."

"What reason is that?" he asks.

"He said he would feel more comfortable with a male examiner."

That makes Suga pause. He's performed a decent number of exams by now, but all of them have been on women. "I see," he says. He begins heading down the hall to fetch a rape kit. "What do you know about him?"

"Well, he's young," says Koko, following him. She's not consulting a clipboard, which suggests the patient had requested a different nurse before providing even his basic information. "I'm guessing he's about your age, but he looks younger. Short stature. Very, um—very rough shape. His nose looks like it might be broken, and he has a friend with him who's pretty worked up—do you want me to go in there and have him sent to the waiting room?"

"I'll do it," says Suga. He reaches storage and pulls one of the kits down from its shelf, hesitating there for a beat longer, staring at it between his hands. He forces a small laugh. "This never gets easier, does it?"

"No," says Koko, patting his back, "but we can do what we can not to make it any harder."

That's right. Suga nods and squares his shoulders. It takes him a few moments to regain his composure, but he manages, taking a few deep breaths, grabbing a clipboard, and crossing the hall toward the exam rooms.

Back in nursing school, Suga pulled all-nighter after all-nighter, studying himself sick. The forensics curriculum was brutal. Daichi was right there beside him the whole time, massaging his shoulders and drilling him with flashcards and brewing him gallons of extra strong coffee. It was through his unconditional support that Suga learned the most important part of his job: positivity. He can't undo what has happened to his patients, but he can keep his hands gentle. He can show them that they aren't alone.

Standing in front of the correct room, Suga clears his throat, then adopts a warm, firm smile. He knocks softly before letting himself in.

"Hello, I'm Sugawara Koushi. I'm a forensic nurse here at Saijo Medical, and I—"

"Sugawara-san? Suga?"

Suga blinks. Freezes.

The two men in the room are twenty-five-ish, haggard. The one on his feet has dark, close-cropped hair, a sleeve tattoo, one bruised and bloody fist. With his other hand, he's holding onto his friend, who is sitting on the edge of the exam table. A lock of blond hair sweeps his forehead. The crepe-finish paper below him is sopping up bright, fresh petals of blood, which also paints his chin and nose. Most telling of all, his eyes, wide and angled, have alighted on Suga with stunned recognition. 

"Nishinoya?" Suga says at last. "Tanaka?"

"Yeah," says Noya. He sounds dazed. "It's us." Then he laughs suddenly, cheerful and loud and earnest. "I can't believe it's you! How are you? How the hell've you been?"

"I—um—fine, thank you," says Suga, faint. He's hyperaware of the rape kit he's holding, heavy between his hands, and the fact that Noya still appears to be bleeding between the legs. "Noya—"

"You look awesome," Noya says fondly. "Last I heard from Kiyoko-chan, you were getting ready to graduate. Guess I know what you studied now, huh? How are you liking it?"

"It's—it's great."

"I bet you're super good at it, too. You always knew how to take care of people."

"Noya."

"How's Daichi-san? You two still living by the train station near—"

"Noya! Please." Suga's voice cracks a little, and it's a mark of how unnerved he sounds that Noya actually quiets, his bloodied lips pursed in mid-syllable. Suga flounders, studying him. The damage reaches every part of his body. His nose, his jaw, his wrists, the slivers of ankle above his sneakers, his delicate throat, looped in dark bruises. He's been directed here to Suga for a very particular reason and service, but it's unfathomable. _Not this_ , thinks Suga, his throat closed up to the size of a pin. _Please. Not Noya._

"He texted me this afternoon," says Tanaka, voice expressionless. "Said he was finally breaking it off with the shitwad he's been dating. We made plans for later in the evening, and I waited up for him for a while, but he never showed. So I went to his apartment. Found him there on the floor. He was unconscious."

Feeling ill, Suga glances at Noya for confirmation. Noya shrugs, his smile wide and shaky.

"I mean, the guy outweighs me by like seven hundred kilograms," he says. "There was only so much I could do, you know?"

"Noya, no one is blaming you for what happened. None of this was your fault," says Suga. He feels way too warm. He takes a few steps toward the exam table, hesitates, then backs toward the door, shaking his head. "Nishinoya-san, I shouldn't assist you. We know each other too well. I'm going to go get Koko-san and let her take over the—"

"No!" Noya cries out. "Suga-san, please, don't leave me!"

Suga pauses at the threshold. Noya is struggling to stand. Suga and Tanaka both lurch to stop him, but he makes it to his feet first, and his legs immediately give out from beneath him. He kneels there on the tile, both hands jammed between his trembling thighs. For just a moment, despair flickers across his face. Then it smooths out and he laughs, light and easy.

"I want you to do the examination," he says. "It's good that I know you, right? I'm comfortable with you and all!"

"It's just not appropriate," says Suga. "I'm—"

"—the only male nurse on staff who is certified for this stuff," Noya finishes.

Suga takes a deep, unsteady breath. Noya sits there for a beat longer, then starts lifting himself back up to a standing position. Tanaka has to help him. The seat of Noya's sweatpants is stained with blood. When he gets settled on the table again, his gaze happens downward, and he does a double take.

"I'm bleeding," he says, confused.

And that—that does it. Suga can't stand this. He closes the door, pulls on a pair of latex gloves, and tears the opening seal of the rape kit on the counter.

Tanaka hovers nearby while Suga checks Noya's nose—no fracture, just a lot of bruising—and affirms he isn't concussed. Asks about his prescriptions and medical history. Noya readily answers all of his questions, but every time Suga pauses to write something down, he changes the subject. "Yeah, so I'm working as an assistant coach at a local middle school now," he chatters. "It's really fun! Coach Naoshi is retiring next year. Obviously I'm next in line for the position, and the kids are great—super motivated, totally wrecking at practice matches—"

"Noya, fuck," says Tanaka thinly.

"What?"

"Noya," says Suga gently, "I need you to take off your clothes now. I've laid down a large sheet of paper to catch any fiber evidence. Okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure!" says Noya. He clambers to his feet, leaning heavily on the exam table, and begins slowly wriggling out of his pants. He starts talking about his job again, but Suga doesn't hear a word: Noya's thighs are covered in blood and bruises. Handprints ring the skin above his knees. When he draws his shirt over his head, he bares abused, purpled ribs, bite marks, deep scratches. There even appear to be signs of strangulation. Noya deposits his clothes in the bag Suga holds out for him, pausing at his underwear. "Everything?" he asks, his voice going softer.

"Whatever you're comfortable with, but more is better if you decide you want to take legal action," says Suga.

"He's gonna," says Tanaka, with finality.

Noya hesitates. "Yeah, um—I'll think about it."

"What? Are you fucking serious?" Tanaka demands. "Noya, look at what he did to you! He could've killed you!"

"He didn't, though."

" _That's_ your argument?"

"I mean, I kind of provoked him. I broke up with him, and his birthday was coming up and all—"

Shaking, Tanaka turns around and smacks both fists on the counter, rattling the glass containers of cotton swabs. " _Fuck!_ " he yells.

Suga has to agree with the sentiment. What the hell did this guy do to Noya over time? How could he have broken him badly enough that he'd blame himself for such a savage attack? Under any other circumstances, Suga would be gathering Noya in his arms. Instead, he begins to seal the paper bag of soiled clothes, stopping only when Noya makes a hesitant noise.

"Wait," he says. "I'll take everything off. Just—Ryuu, can you wait for me outside?"

Tanaka blinks. "Huh?" he says, confused. "Noya?"

"I just think—it might be easier for me to do this alone," says Noya. He smiles with obvious difficulty. He's standing there bravely, overexposed in only his underwear, and Suga feels a rush of admiration as he reaches out and gives Tanaka's hand a squeeze. "I can't thank you enough for how much you've helped me, today and always. But—I don't want you to see me like this. No more than you already have, anyway. Like, let me have this last bit of dignity."

Tanaka stares at him for a long moment. Finally, he nods and squeezes his hand back. "Of course, man," he says. His voice is tight. "I'll be out there. But your dignity is _not_ compromised. You understand? He didn't take that away from you. Nothing can."

Noya swallows hard. "Okay," he whispers.

"Okay," says Tanaka. He forces a small grin, then gives Noya and Suga little salutes as he leaves. Closes the door quietly behind him. They listen to his footsteps fade down the hall toward the waiting room, maintaining strained, silent smiles.

"All right," says Suga kindly, when they're alone. "Are you ready to proceed?"

Noya lets out a long, shuddery breath. Then his grin returns, stronger than ever. "Let's do this."

*

Suga begins by photographing Noya's injuries. There are dozens of them. Bruises, fingernail cuts, scratches, bite marks. He takes saliva and blood samples, carefully packaging up the glass slides into tiny boxes after preparing them. He scrapes beneath Noya's nails for skin cells. When he combs through Noya's hair, Noya hums and closes his eyes, leaning into the gentle touch as if it's the first benevolent physical contact he's had that day. Probably is. That's why it's hard to ask Noya to lie down on the exam table and spread his legs so Suga can swab between them.

"What?" asks Noya, laughing a little. "Really?"

"I was under the impression there was anal penetration," says Suga. "I'm sorry. You can refuse any part of this exam. We can stop now, if you'd like."

Noya's quiet for a moment. "No, that's okay," he says.

He places both hands on the exam table and hoists himself onto it, smiling. Props up and spreads his legs without another word, abruptly enough that Suga is startled, unprepared.

"Thanks for your cooperation, Noya," he says, hastily gathering his swabs.

"No problem. Well, ha, kind of a problem, but not your fault."

"You've been incredibly brave," says Suga. He hates that he hesitates. Then he steps between Noya's legs, firms his lips—and has to briefly close his eyes.

Noya's passage is badly torn. Blood and semen coat his perineum. No signs of lube, though. _How?_ Suga thinks, feeling sick. Without preparation, this form of intercourse must have injured his rapist, too. Was hurting Noya more important to the bastard than his own safety? Could a person really be this cruel? Suga leans forward with the swab, careful to use slow, soothing movements, and gives Noya a comforting smile.

As soon as he gets within reach, Noya crosses his arms over his face and begins to cry.

Suga pulls back immediately. "Oh, Noya," he says, voice brittle and miserable.

"He just hit me," Noya sobs. "Out of fucking nowhere! I was on the ground before I knew what had happened, and he was on top of me. Maybe I should've had Ryuu with me or something. Maybe I shouldn't have broken up with him. I don't know, it always hurt pretty bad when we did it, but this was so—I mean, I thought he was going to kill me, Suga. He was going to fucking kill me, and all I could think about was how—"

He takes a deep, shaky breath. Smiles through his tears, bright with pain.

"How I never told Asahi-san how I feel about him."

Suga's jaw goes slack. He'd always had his suspicions about Noya and Asahi, but to hear it aloud—especially in this context—it stuns him. He sits down on the stool by the exam table, hands folded in his lap. "Noya. You and Asahi—?"

"C'mon, it can't be _that_ surprising."

"Well, no, but—I didn't think that after all this time, you'd still—"

"Asahi is forever," says Noya.

He sits up and hugs his naked knees to his chest. He looks so small. Suga offers him a box of tissues, and Noya takes a handful, dabbing at his eyes, his still-blood encrusted nose. Tears slip down his bruised cheeks. He scrubs them away exhaustedly.

"If I could tell Asahi anything right now," he says, strained, "I'd tell him I miss him. That I hate myself for letting him leave town without knowing what I feel for him. And I'd tell him I'm sorry, so fucking sorry, for letting that son of a bitch put it in me today."

"You didn't _let_ him do anything," says Suga, furious.

"Could've kept saying 'no.' Could've—"

"Noya, listen to me. I'm speaking to you as a friend, and as a medical professional: you were raped."

It's the first time he's used the word aloud. It seems to badly startle Noya—he stares at Suga with wide eyes, mouth slightly ajar. "I—you don't know that; you weren't—" he begins, lost. He purses his lips. Then, slowly, he lowers his knees. He studies them, their bruises and cuts, then extends his arms to examine them, too. Slowly, his face crumples. He fixates on his wrists, mottled with purple and yellow, and rubs them until he's wincing. Looks up at Suga. Suga holds his gaze steadily, not breaking eye contact, even when Noya begins to tear up again. "Asahi," he says, voice choked. "Suga."

"I'm here for you," says Suga firmly. "We lost touch once; we're not going to do it again. If you need anything, you tell me, okay?"

Noya nods once, curtly. Everything in his eyes says 'thank you.' Then the corners of his mouth tip up minutely. It's not quite a smile, but it's a thousand times better than crying, and it's brave as hell.

"We should finish the exam," he says.

"Okay," says Suga. "Okay."

He walks Noya through the rest of the process. He takes urine samples. Gives him pills that fight potential STDs, even though Noya says his boyfriend was clean. He asks for more details about the assault, and they break his heart: in addition to the beating, the piece of shit pinned him to the floor, twisted his arms, strangled him. Suga has to step out for just a moment to calm down, during which Koko provides a tray of okonomiyaki, rice, and miso soup. This delights Noya, perks him up. He eats enthusiastically while he repeats his story to the police officer who arrives to take his statement.

"I didn't even know you could, like—rape your own boyfriend," he says at one point. "I guess he's maybe done that before, though not as—you know. Angrily? So I'm not sure it actually counts."

In his line of work, Suga has wished bodily harm on many people, but never anyone as strongly as Noya's boyfriend.

When they're done, Suga hunts down clothes for Noya: disposable paper slippers, socks, sweatpants, an enormous gray sweatshirt. Suga gives him a hard, furtive hug before he opens the door to release him into the waiting room, where Tanaka is dozing, an open magazine draped over his face. As procedure dictates, Suga transports Noya in a wheelchair.

"Hey, dipshit," says Noya, once he's in earshot.

Tanaka snorts himself awake, swiping the magazine away. When his gaze meets Noya's, he grins one of the most beautiful, complicated grins Suga has ever seen. "Hi, fuckface," he says.

The two of them hug. Tanaka shakes as he does it, eyes squeezed shut. Suga pretends not to notice the tear that slips down his cheek. He swipes it away fast with the back of his hand.

"You all set, then?" he asks Noya, leaning back.

"Yep. Ready for a shower like you wouldn't believe."

"Buddy, after the day you've had, I'll scrub your goddamn back for you." Tanaka gives his car keys a twirl, then hesitates. "Can you walk?"

Noya glances questioningly at Suga, who shakes his head. "I've got to take you as far as your vehicle or train," he says.

"Ooh, the royal treatment," says Noya.

"Doesn't mean what you think it means," says Tanaka, snickering.

The three of them proceed to the exit, Noya and Tanaka chattering away about the food Noya had received during his stay ("Wasn't a fan of the okaka. That miso, though. You should break your leg or something so you can try it") so cheerfully that Suga is almost able to forget why they're here. He smiles a little and waves to Koko as he ends his shift, stopping briefly to grab his coat. He's just shrugged it on and resumed wheeling Noya through the lobby when he spots them. Ice climbs his limbs. He stops walking. Tanaka and Noya's conversation tapers, then halts entirely.

Daichi's standing near the front entrance, holding a bento. It's obvious that he was bringing Suga a meal; he does this fairly often, as Suga's shifts frequently run late. He's glancing between Suga and Noya with confusion that's slowly turning into heartsick understanding. But that's not the shocker.

Standing next to him, wearing a fading smile, is Azumane Asahi.


	2. Chapter 2

At one in the morning, they go out for breakfast. Suga's coming off of a fifteen hour shift, Asahi a six hour drive, and Noya a three hour sexual assault exam, but they go out for fucking _breakfast._

"I'll have the coconut waffles, two scrambled eggs, and a parfait with raspberries, please," says Noya. "No, no! Blueberries instead of raspberries? Or both? Can you do that? And do you still do the pancakes with the smiley faces on them?"

Daichi realizes he's staring at Noya with blank disbelief, and smooths out his expression just in time to smile as Noya glances over at him. Noya beams back. Damn, he's a wreck: he cleaned himself up as best he could, but the bruises on the bridge of his nose have spread beneath his eyes, and his lips are split, swollen. Tanaka is openly exhausted. Suga, still in nurse-mode from Noya's injuries, is studying him over the top edge of his menu. And Asahi—

Asahi had driven all the way up from his apartment in Tokyo to surprise Suga that evening. He and Daichi have been planning this visit for about a month now, ever since Daichi bought the ring: it's a slender, elegant piece, polished sterling silver with rose gold inlays, and Daichi can't imagine presenting it to Suga without Asahi there by their sides. Can barely imagine himself presenting it at all, honestly. He's terrified. He's only about halfway sure he has the guts to ask. Their partnership wouldn't be an official marriage by law, it's true—but the part of him that isn't scared shitless desperately wants to make this gesture to the man he loves. Preferably before that man works himself to death at Saijo Medical.

Suga's job is brutal. Both Daichi and Asahi are informed of the more delicate aspects of its nature. That's why seeing Noya in that wheelchair today—the hospital slippers and clothes, the plastic wristband—they knew. They knew immediately what must have happened to him. Daichi will never forget the look on Noya's face, god—but he'll never forget the look on Asahi's, either.

Now Asahi is staring at the table, pale and silent. He hasn't managed to meet Noya's gaze once. He still talks privately to Daichi about Noya sometimes, when he's drunk or pensive or tired—always the same desires, the same regrets, and Daichi aches whenever he thinks of all the life his friends haven't gotten to live together. It's not _fair_. And now that they're face-to-face for the first time in six years, Noya has some bastard's fingerprint bruises trailing down his throat.

"Anything for you, sir?" the waitress asks Daichi. Her voice is kind, but she looks frightened: between Noya, Asahi, and Tanaka, they must make for a pretty jarring group. Daichi tries to placate her with a smile.

"Just a coffee, please. Thank you."

She takes their menus, bows, and disappears through a door behind the counter. Daichi watches her go. When he turns back to the table, Tanaka's got his head in his hands, and Noya is staring at Daichi with cheerful expectancy.

"So, Daichi-san, what have you been up to?" he asks. "Still working in, uh—what was it? Something-something architecture?"

"Architectural drafting," says Daichi. "No, I sell hamburgers at Matsuya."

He was laid off last year. He's not quite able to keep the bitterness out of his voice, and it kills the budding conversation. Noya's lips thin in an almost imperceptible wince.

"Oh, I love Matsuya," he says.

"It's very good," says Daichi.

They subside. Tanaka slowly slouches down to rest his forehead on his folded arms, and Suga gives Daichi's knee a gentle pat under the table. Daichi can't even look at Asahi. Neither can Noya, apparently, because he begins studying his fingernails, preternaturally clean after being scraped for the exam.

"I've always liked this restaurant," he says. "I didn't think it'd be open around this time."

"Mm," says Suga. He draws in a breath to follow that up with something, but he loses it and grimaces. After a few false starts, he says, instead, "I like the wallpaper."

"Good color, yeah."

"Peaceful."

Daichi has to physically stop himself from dropping his head to the table, like Tanaka already has. But at least Suga's trying. Daichi eyes him sidelong, filled with a hot, helpless affection: even after a marathon-length shift that culminated in the most emotionally draining encounter imaginable, Suga is still smiling, stroking Daichi's leg with tender fingertips. Offering his patient, calming attention to Noya.

Noya, who is looking up suddenly now, brows drawn together with focus and determination.

"Okay, couple of elephants in the room," he says, holding out two fingers, like a peace sign. "First: I kinda got my ass handed to me today. Well, technically yesterday. Point being that I'm fine now, and nothing's broken, and Suga-san took amazing care of me. He's incredible at what he does. I'm lucky he was there, and you're all lucky to have him in your lives. Which I'm sure you already know."

"We do," says Asahi in a low voice. They're the first words he's spoken since the hospital. He finally looks up, and his eyes meet Noya's with a raw, aching softness. They stare at each other for what seems like a very long time.

At last, Noya smiles. It lights up his abused face.

"Second elephant," he says, quieter. "Asahi—hi. It's so good to see you."

"Hi," Asahi whispers. "Noya, I—hi."

Silence again, but this time, it's shy. Tentatively warm. The waitress takes that moment to arrive with their beverages and dispel the last of the tension, and after she leaves, it's Suga who speaks first. His voice is heartfelt, open.

"I wish we could've reunited under better circumstances."

"Word," says Tanaka. He lifts his head. "How long you staying, Azumane?"

"Four days," says Asahi.

"We gotta get together again, then. Coffee, dinner. Something."

"I would really like that." Daichi can tell that it's taking Asahi great willpower not to keep staring at Noya. Instead, he lets his gaze fall again, pouring Suga some tea with slightly unsteady hands. "What have you two been doing these days?"

Neither of them say, _Experiencing horrific assaults._ Tanaka and Noya laugh, the sound bright and cathartic in the still restaurant. "We're coaching rival volleyball teams," says Tanaka, bumping Noya's shoulder with his own. "Middle schoolers. Real good kids."

"Ryuu's legit coaching; I'm just an assistant right now," Noya corrects. His smile turns wicked. "You'd know if I were head coach, because I'd've already kicked the living shit out of his team."

Tanaka snorts. "Oh _ho_ , you think so, you detestable Napoleonic hedgehog?"

"Bet your ass on it, my pestilential potty-trained uakari."

Suga chokes into his cup of tea and begins to cough. Daichi rubs his back, grinning. He has no idea what an uakari is, but if it's making Tanaka and Noya laugh, that's good enough for him. The two of them bicker, beautiful in their familiarity. Daichi is struck by the comfort in all the small, honest things that haven't changed between them—their camaraderie, the easy way they touch and tease; Tanaka's expressions; Noya's full, effervescent laughter. Suga, ever adaptable, joins the conversation with easy grace. Daichi nods along, glancing sideways at Asahi when he can.

Asahi seems to be doing better now, all things considered. He's thawing with Noya's ostensible high spirits, and is even smiling a little, though his eyes remain dark with concern and longing. He looks different from the last time Daichi saw him in person. Sits a bit taller, wears his hair down. Daichi can't imagine how he feels: after years away from his hometown, to return to an estranged almost-lover in such heartbreaking condition—? Asahi wasn't planning to call Noya. Daichi knows this without asking. _Everyone_ has stopped asking.

He still doesn't know what happened between the two of them. What _didn't_ happen. Their attraction was mutual and immediate. They were locking hot gazes across the gym before Daichi knew Suga's favorite color, and that flame never cooled, even when they quit the team. Hell, _especially_ when they quit the team. Daichi doesn't buy into that 'other half' bullshit—Suga is resolutely whole, with or without Daichi—but Asahi and Noya seemed emptied of something without each other, something soft and sparkling that shone straight through the dark. They were meant to be together. All of them knew it; there was a betting pool going and everything. But neither of them made a move. Asahi did a year of junior college, then moved to Tokyo for work. Noya graduated. Near the end there, Suga wanted to shake them both, but Daichi kept believing it'd somehow be okay. _Just give it time, Suga. It'll happen._

He's given them a lot of fucking time.

"—seriously _love_ the series," Noya is saying now, his gestures wide and excited. "The spin-off trilogy sucked a little, but I forgive it because this new one's gonna be freaking amazing. I've got two tickets for the premiere tonight! They were a gift from my boyfriend."

Tanaka face twists suddenly, and Suga draws a sharp breath, but Noya only pauses for an instant before smoothing it over with a wave of his hand. His sleeve slips a little, revealing a badly bruised wrist.

"Ex-boyfriend, that is."

And then it's so abruptly, sickeningly obvious. Daichi feels a horrible tug in his stomach. Noya's boyfriend had—his fucking _boyfriend_. All the bruises and cuts, his nose, the purpling marks around his neck—and Daichi can't even think about the rest. He knows that Asahi caught it too, by the sudden stilling of his jittering leg under the table.

"Well, damn, I don't wanna go alone," continues Noya, unaffected. "Hey, Daichi-san, do you and Suga-san feel like having a date night?"

"Action movies aren't really our thing," Suga says apologetically. He glances at Daichi for affirmation—and Daichi sees the idea blossom in his expressive eyes even before he tilts his chin subtly toward Asahi. Then he turns toward Tanaka, presumably to try to convey the same silent message.

It must work, because before Noya can even ask him, Tanaka says, "Maybe you can go with Asahi-san."

Asahi flinches, and Noya's mouth opens and shuts a few times. They don't look at each other. "Uh, you don't want to go with me, Ryuu?" Noya says, after a moment of floundering.

"I do, bro, but I've got practice."

"It's an evening showing."

"It's an evening practice."

There's no rancor in Noya's gaze as he studies Tanaka, just suspicion, nervousness. When Tanaka merely shrugs, Noya shrugs back, then takes a steadying breath. After a few heavy seconds, he turns a wide, gorgeous smile on Asahi. It staggers Daichi, and it's not even meant for him.

"What do you say, Asahi-san?" Noya asks. "You, me, a gigantic bucket of popcorn?"

Asahi swallows audibly. Now that Daichi's looking at him, he can see that whatever's in Asahi's eyes is incredibly complicated: fury at the revelation of Noya's violent ex, self-consciousness at the sudden attention, harrowing desire and hope and love. Love, always—and fear. Asahi's braver than he's ever been; his growth has been damn near miraculous since he moved away, but this is Nishinoya Yuu they're talking about. All bets are off. They're suddenly high schoolers again, caught in this same tired courtship dance, and Daichi is a split-second away from answering for him when Asahi clears his throat and smiles back.

"That would be great," he says. His voice is almost stable. "Tonight, you said? What time should we meet up?"

Suga seizes Daichi's hand under the table and squeezes ridiculously hard with triumph, and Noya's eyes grow wide. He obviously hadn't expected Asahi to say 'yes.' "Seven?" he says, uncharacteristically meek, then shakes himself a little and grins radiantly. "Seven! The regular theater; I'll text you! What's your number?"

Across the table, Tanaka waits until Asahi and Noya are looking down at their phones, then executes a very emotional fist-pump.

The food comes just as they finish exchanging contact information. Suga automatically places half of his sandwich on Daichi's coffee saucer and pushes it toward him, and Daichi casts him a grateful glance. Six years of dating have given them routine, security. It's how Daichi can tell that Suga is more shaken than he's letting on. Daichi picks the slices of avocado off of his half of sandwich and returns them to Suga's plate, smiling when Suga blinks a few times, startled out of some reverie. He links their hands above the table for the first time that evening. No one comments, but there's a soft shift in mood.

"So I'm seeing someone," says Tanaka, mouth full.

"Oh?" says Suga, delighted, although Noya overrides that with a loud, "What the hell? You didn't tell me!"

"I was gonna earlier, but I ended up having to carry you to the hospital instead," Tanaka says. Daichi winces, but he trusts Tanaka to know Noya's sense of humor, and that faith is validated when Noya snorts and punches him in the arm. Tanaka rubs it dramatically, laughing. "Ow, hey! I need that for cuddling!"

"You're already at the cuddling stage?"

"Y-yeah. But—I'm so afraid of messing things up that I feel totally frozen now, you know?"

Noya's smile grows wistful, but he doesn't reply. Neither does Asahi, who stirs his tea, eyes thoughtful as he waits for Tanaka to continue.

Tanaka turns to Daichi and Suga, fiercely earnest. "Running into you guys tonight was like fate," he says. "Help a guy out here. How do you do it? Fall in love, stay in love—make sure you both know it?"

"Ah," says Daichi, shifting in his chair. He feels shy, he realizes, but not uncomfortable—he trusts his friends' sincerity and discretion, and yes, they're all still friends, even with so much empty time between them. Daichi supposes the important things never change, and he tells them as much: "You kind of—get a feeling for what's permanent. _Who_ is permanent. You figure out what they need, and you hold onto them. But you give them breathing space. You don't keep captives."

"Daichi and I took a little break last year," Suga admits, to everyone's obvious surprise. "Just a week or two—"

"Ten agonizing days," says Daichi.

"—and we don't count it as a breakup, but it was good for us. I think I just needed to know that I was still complete without him, you know? We came back together feeling more willing and ready than we had in years."

"Ready for what?" asks Tanaka.

They're quiet for a moment. Daichi meets Suga's gaze. His heart starts thudding a little harder, the way it does whenever they come to a silent understanding, or Suga laughs, or he wakes up to find him cooking breakfast wearing only one of Daichi's shirts. There are still a few questions hanging between them—all regarding their future together—and it might be time to start answering some of them. Daichi thinks of the ring he purchased last month, still nestled in the velvet box in his coat pocket.

Daichi smiles, and Suga smiles back.

"Ready for whatever comes next, I guess," says Daichi.

Tanaka leans back—and smirks. It's almost imperceptible, but Daichi catches a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes before he nods solemnly and gives Asahi and Noya's hands a pointed, simultaneous squeeze. Daichi stares at him, caught off-guard. He doesn't think that Tanaka's new romance is actually fictitious, but did he really just lead the four of them through some hefty relationship counseling with only a few strategic questions?

"'Whatever comes next,' yeah," Tanaka says contentedly. "Bet I can face that—especially if all you guys are going to be there with me."

His voice is allusive. Clearly, coaching has honed his game sense, and Daichi can't restrain an appreciative smile.

"Count on it," says Asahi, into the brief, loaded silence. 

Suga blinks, sandwich paused halfway to his mouth. "Did Asahi just commit to something before the rest of us?" he asks, only partially teasing.

Asahi reddens. "I mean, I know I've been out of touch, but I—I can do better now. The older I get, the further away certain things seem, and—I think I need to grab onto them before they get away from me for good. I owe everyone that. I owe _myself_ that. I-isn't that true?"

"That's right," says Daichi, clapping Asahi firmly on the back. His friend has always had so much trouble being kind to himself, letting himself be happy. His realizing that is an extraordinary development. Daichi's not sure how much of this has to do with Noya—who is staring at Asahi wide-eyed and awed, bruised cheeks round with pancakes—but he's thankful that they're all here together now. There's something—fated about their reunion. Like maybe they're supposed to help each other out, somehow. "You have our full support, Asahi, just as we know that we have yours."

"You do," Asahi promises. "I never stopped cheering, you know. For all of us."

"Once a team, always a team," Tanaka agrees.

It settles something unspoken between them, something deeply unifying, and conversation shifts warmly back to lighter topics: food, sports, music. Suga and Asahi get into a debate over the year's best debut album. Tanaka gesticulates too vehemently with his chopsticks and flings a piece of broccoli across the room. Noya, for his part, eats his entire meal and half of Tanaka's before his eyelids begin to droop shut, and soon he's listing to the side, head bobbing with the effort of staying awake. Tanaka laughs softly, pulling him under his arm.

"Better get this one to bed. He's had a mega-bitch of a day."

"Does he—have somewhere safe to go?" Suga asks, tentative, and Daichi doesn't even want to think of those implications.

"Oh yeah, I'm bringing him back to my place."

"Good. Thank you. If you need anything, just call, okay?"

"Will do." Tanaka thumbs some yen notes out of his wallet, drops them on the table, and begins the delicate process of coaxing Noya upright. "Hey, let's get going."

"Ow," says Noya blearily, as Tanaka helps him stand. Then, sharper, "Fucking _ow_ , Ryuu."

"Sorry, buddy, but you can't sleep here."

Noya glares at him before glancing back at the table. Daichi can see the instant he remembers where he is, remembers his circumstances, because something achy and vulnerable crosses his face. It looks so out of place there that Daichi's chest physically hurts. He smiles at Noya, wide and genuine.

"It was good to see you, Nishinoya. Let's meet again soon."

"Y-yeah," says Noya. "For sure." He swallows, then grins, and Daichi's throat closes up; he's that painfully convincing: if it weren't for the external damage or their run-in at the hospital, Daichi would have no idea that anything had happened to him. He's too damn good at acting like he's okay. "Bye, Daichi-san," Noya says. "Bye, Suga-san. Asahi-san, I'll see you tonight at seven?"

"See you then," says Asahi. His smile has grown strained again.

Tanaka gives them a broad wave, and he and Noya take off, Noya clearly trying to conceal a bad limp. Daichi turns away. It feels like the respectful thing to do. He finds himself meeting Suga and Asahi's gazes in turn, and, with their nonchalant facades dropped, he can see that they look as grim as he feels. Suga silently gestures that he wants to leave. Daichi goes to settle the bill, and sees that Tanaka has covered all of them. 

*

They make it all the way back to the apartment before they speak again.

"Well," says Asahi simply, leaning against the closed door.

It's tired and helpless and understated, and it makes Daichi laugh a little, because there's nothing else to do. Suga laughs too, short and breathless, but it turns into a low, shuddering sigh. He buries his face in his hands. Daichi pulls him into his arms and strokes his back, unsurprised to find that his shoulders are shaking.

"All I knew is that the patient had requested a male examiner," Suga says. "I didn't know anything about his identity. I just stepped into the room, and he—and Tanaka was there, too, and—"

"Suga," Daichi murmurs. He can't shush him, can't tell him things are all right. He just holds him, brushing the hair from his face when he finally looks up. His eyes are damp.

"He pretended like nothing was wrong at first."

"That's Nishinoya for you," says Daichi.

"His legs. His _throat_. I—I'm not supposed to discuss this, but I mean, you could _see_ —"

"I could kill the bastard who hurt him," says Asahi.

Daichi and Suga glance up at him, startled. They've never heard him express anything with such violent intent before, but Asahi's expression is calm, controlled. His gaze is distant. It takes him a long time to refocus on them, and when he does, the aggression melts back out of him, replaced by something soft and heartbreaking. He closes his eyes.

"If I had been there for him—"

"No. We're not going there." Suga's tone leaves no room for argument. "What happened was not your fault, and there's no way you could've known how to prevent it. Noya is strong. His spirit isn't broken. What you can do for him now is take him out to see that terrible action movie, and buy him some popcorn, and maybe even hold his hand."

Asahi's quiet for a moment. "You think he'd like that?"

"He would love it, Asahi."

Even in the dark apartment, Daichi can see his cheeks color. 

"Let's go to bed for now," Daichi says. As soon as he suggests it, he realizes he's bone-weary. It's almost three in the morning. "Do you need anything, Asahi? Toiletries, more blankets?"

"I'm all set," says Asahi, nodding toward the guest bedroom, where he'd deposited his small suitcase.

"Then I'll see you in the morning."

They start to move toward the hallway, but Suga hesitates as he passes Asahi, then pulls him into a firm hug. "It really is wonderful to see you," he says. "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to receive you properly in all the confusion."

"They were definitely strange circumstances. Get some rest, Suga. We'll talk soon."

Daichi and Suga perform their nighttime rituals, changing and washing their faces and brushing their teeth together in front of the tiny sink. Today, though, Daichi finds himself hanging back a little to stare at his toothbrush sitting there in the cup beside Suga's. It's miraculous, he thinks, that he can come home to Suga each night; that Suga is waiting for him in bed right now, sleepy and soft and laundry soap-fresh in his old pajama bottoms and one of Daichi's shirts. _He's safe_ , Daichi tells himself, to combat the sudden twist in his stomach. He nods to himself once, decisive, and turns off the light.

Curled up in the covers, Suga looks very small. Daichi lifts one edge and inches in beside him, reaching up to cup his cheek, finding it damp with tears. Suga clasps his hand closer and nuzzles into it. His breath is warm and shaky.

"Tell me he's going to be okay," he says.

"He's going to be okay."

"I— _I'm_ okay."

Only Suga can answer that. Daichi kisses his brow. "You're here, Suga. I've got you."

Suga brushes their lips together softly. Tears bead his lashes, and he smiles, looking at Daichi with such open tenderness that a lump forms in Daichi's throat.

"When I was raped," says Suga, "I kept thinking about how—how bare I felt. Like everyone could see straight through me, to all the nakedness and shame and fear. I thought I'd die from sheer overexposure. But you didn't demand anything of me. You knew when to kiss me and when not to, but you never made me feel—undefended. The first time that I felt safety again was in your arms."

Daichi kisses Suga's fingertips one at a time. His own eyes burn. Suga so rarely talks about his rape.

"Do you think Asahi can be that person for Noya?" Suga asks. "You don't think it's too late for them, do you?"

He thinks about it. He wouldn't disrespect Suga by lying to him, but as he runs back through the evening—Asahi and Noya's soft greeting, their longing, the smiles they'd exchanged—he realizes he doesn't have to. "I think they found each other again exactly when they needed to," he says.

Suga nestles down against Daichi and releases a sigh against his collarbone. "I want them to be happy."

"I do, too. They've deserved it for a very long time."

Eventually, Suga nods off, and Daichi strokes his hair and listens to the gentle in-and-out of his breathing. God, he's never loved anything the way he loves Suga. Just thinking about it makes him greedy, but he reins in that hunger in favor of something wider; something that keeps Suga free to step away whenever he wants to. That allows everything, and makes his commitment willing, always.

Daichi falls asleep thinking about Asahi's new posture, taller and more self-assured. He thinks about Noya being treated under Suga's nuanced, professional care, and Tanaka, who can laugh even when no one else can. And he thinks of the ring in his coat pocket, box unopened since the sale, and what it means for their future—and his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading, and sorry for the delay! Asahi chapter coming up next.


	3. Chapter 3

Asahi wakes in the afternoon to the sound of glasses clinking together in the kitchenette. When he cracks the door open, he sees Suga and Daichi leaning against the counter, toasting something with champagne. There's a third bubbling flute sitting on the table, presumably for him. He hesitates anyway, afraid to ruin whatever moment they're having, but Daichi spots him and calls out before he can retreat back into the guest bedroom: "Hey, Asahi! Come out here!"

"I don't want to intrude," says Asahi, uncertain.

"You're never intruding," says Suga. He looks a little tired, but his smile is radiant, and he holds out a hand until Asahi steps up beside him to take it. Daichi immediately presses the other glass of champagne on him. Asahi eyes it suspiciously.

"Guess what," Daichi says, eyes bright.

"Um." Asahi doesn't think they could be celebrating something as epic their engagement; the tone and logistics are way off. "I—don't know. What?"

"I got a job offer! It's with a market-facing services firm that I've heard of; they're looking for a head drafter. One of my bosses from my old company recommended me. The position is mine if I want it." He hesitates. Adds, with modesty and apprehension, "The salary is extremely generous."

That's the only part that Asahi's waking brain can really process. He knows that Daichi and Suga have been having financial difficulties since Daichi was laid off, and Suga has been taking longer and longer shifts to compensate. There's no ill will between them—there probably never could be; they're simply too in love for that—but another decent source of income would greatly improve the quality of their lives. Excited, Asahi clinks glasses with Daichi so hard that champagne sloshes all over his shirt.

"Oh, shi—s-sorry—"

"This benefits you because you'll no longer have to listen to me complain about Matsuya," says Daichi, still grinning.

"I don't mind it. Daichi, that's amazing news! I'm so happy for you!" 

Daichi tugs Asahi into a hug that only lasts an instant before Suga embraces them both from behind and literally squeezes the breath out of them. Asahi has to shove him away, gasping. Suga just laughs. He drapes his arms over Daichi's shoulders and gives him a firm, lingering kiss. Then he plucks their champagne flutes out of their hands and downs all three of them, one after the other.

"Holy shit, Suga," says Daichi.

"Just going into this day with a little help." Suga takes a long draft directly from the bottle, recorks it, and places it back in the refrigerator. He's beaming when he turns back around. "Shower time!"

Asahi and Daichi get out of his way fast. Suga passes between them, humming, and they stare at each other with amusement (Daichi) and concern (Asahi) until he's down the hall with the bathroom door shut.

"Is he—?" Asahi begins.

"He's fine," Daichi says, smiling a little. "Still processing a few things from yesterday."

 _Yesterday._ Something about that tugs at Asahi. He frowns, rubbing at his eyes to work out the remaining bits of sleep. "What do you mean?"

Daichi turns to meet his gaze. "It's going to be okay, Asahi," he says, voice kind.

Of course it. Why wouldn't it be? Asahi finished packing his suitcases and boxes on Monday. Cleaned his apartment top to bottom on Tuesday. On Wednesday, he turned in his keys and spent the evening thrumming with excitement in his Tokyo hotel room, thinking about how to tell Daichi and Suga that he was moving back home: the restaurant where he works is opening a new location in Miyagi, and they want him to be its manager. And Asahi accepted. Moving to Tokyo was more about hiding than anything else, after all. And he's done hiding. Hiding from his family. Hiding from his perceived failures. Hiding from—

On Thursday, Asahi made the drive back, and met with Daichi late in the evening for dinner and drinks. Once home, Daichi slipped away to have a steamy conversation with Suga while Asahi got settled in. Came back to report that Suga was working overtime. _We'll bring him dinner if it gets too late_ , Daichi said, sighing. _This happens a lot_.

 _Hope everything is okay_ , said Asahi.

_Me too._

When three hours had passed and Suga still hadn't returned, they'd packed up a bento and gone to the hospital. Asahi had been eager to surprise him. Saijo was a clean, well-lit medical center, even that early in the morning, and he was smiling when he stepped through the front doors. And then—

And then.

Asahi sits down hard at the kitchen table. A high-pitched whine starts in his ears.

Nishinoya Yuu. _Noya_.

"It's all right," says Daichi, kneeling down in front of him. "I'm right here, Asahi. What do you need?"

Asahi shakes his head. His hands are trembling, and he closes them into tight fists in his lap. He's been in love with Noya for seven years, even though they haven't spoken in six. Of course he remembers him as he was back then—his radiance, his boisterous laughter, his beauty and optimism and focus—but his appearance in the hospital blurs that memory.

The black eyes. The bruises around his wrists and throat. Asahi understands Suga's job; he knows what it means that Noya was referred to him for treatment. When Asahi considers being blessed enough to date Noya, he can't imagine treating him with anything less than the utmost respect. To care for him always, and unconditionally. The thought of a man dehumanizing him with such unspeakable violence—it fucking destroys Asahi. He has never been as furious and disgusted as he was in the restaurant. He would kill that piece of shit if he could. He would kill him, and he would die for Noya.

"I love him," says Asahi, voice shaking.

Daichi nods. "I know you do."

"I'm going to a movie with him tonight."

"Yes," says Daichi. He smiles and gives Asahi's knee a firm pat. "It's going to be great."

Asahi forces himself to nod back. Noya in the dark with him, Noya eating popcorn. Noya's small hand in his own, smooth and warm and safe, where no one can hurt him again. 

The worst part is how goddamn helpless he feels. Suga cut off that train of thought last night, but now Asahi is free to think about the way things would've transpired if he'd confessed his feelings to Noya back then, if he'd stayed in his life, if he'd stopped that bastard from moving in on him and hurting him. Was this truly beyond his control, or could he have prevented this? Asahi feels accountable either way.

"Asahi," Daichi says, without him having to say anything, "what happened to Noya was no more your fault than it was mine when Suga was raped."

Asahi looks up at him, eyes stinging. His friends don't speak about that time in their lives very often.

"My biggest regret now is that Suga had to tell me a hundred times that there was nothing I could've done. Don't make Noya do that for you, okay? That's time you can spend listening to him or buying him flowers or making him laugh about how slow the blender is—"

"The blender?"

"Maybe you had to be there," says Daichi, blushing. "It's the principle of the thing."

Chuckling, Asahi wipes his face and nods, shifting so he can sit up straighter. He's found out over the years that good posture makes it easier for him to steel himself, and almost immediately he feels a little stronger, a little saner. "How's Suga doing with all of this?" he asks.

"He'll be all right. He has today off."

"You think he'll be up to assessing my wardrobe to see if I have anything date-worthy? Wait, can I—can I actually call this a date? Daichi?"

Daichi laughs. "I think that's a safe bet. And yes, you'll be getting Suga's input on your outfit, whether or not you ask for it."

Still feeling tender, Asahi stands, pulling Daichi with him into a hug. "Thank you," he says quietly.

The embrace lingers a beat longer than is casual. Daichi releases one slow, emotional breath, but his voice is normal when he speaks again: "I'm so glad to have you around, Asahi."

And Asahi hopes that's true, because Daichi doesn't know yet that he's back for good.

He returns to the guest bedroom. While he waits for the shower, he lays out the few shirts he'd packed in his overnight bag: a blue-and-white striped Polo and two new button-ups, one gray, one dark green. There are some t-shirts in his luggage in the car, but he doesn't want to go fish them out yet and incite the whole 'I'm moving home' conversation. Not yet, not with everything that's going on.

Which shirt might look best to Noya? Asahi holds them each up in turn, fretting. It's been a long time. He has no idea what Noya likes now. There was a day back in high school when Asahi had to go to a relative's home directly following practice, and Noya complimented the green shirt he'd pulled on after his shower. _Nice color on you, Asahi-san._ But that was _mint_ green. Asahi fiddles with the placket of the forest-green shirt, nervously buttoning and unbuttoning the collar.

"That's perfect, Asahi," Suga calls as he passes from the bathroom to the bedroom. Asahi jumps about a mile in the air. He hadn't even heard the door open.

After showering, he, Daichi, and Suga head out to eat and shop. It's a nice, low-key day. By unspoken agreement, Daichi and Asahi give Suga a little extra love—going to his favorite restaurant, ordering desserts he likes, steering conversation so he gets to vent about work—and there's not a moment of discomfort in it. It always amazes Asahi how quickly he falls back in with Daichi and Suga; how, even with their relationship, they always leave a space for him that only he can fill. They make him feel irreplaceable. Wanted. Asahi has such a good time that by the time he remembers he's got something to be worried about, it's six-thirty, and it's too late to work himself into a full-blown, I-can't-do-this type of panic.

Partial panic, though—no problem.

"Okay," Asahi says, fanning himself with both hands. "Okay, okay. How do I look?"

"Great," Suga assures. "Handsome."

"How do I smell?"

"Like a thousand spring meadows," says Daichi. "Asahi, are you sure you want to drive? Train might be safer with how you're so. You know." He replicates Asahi's gestures as politely as he can. "Or we can drop you off."

"No, I'll drive. That way I have an—" he pauses. He was going to say 'escape,' but the connotations are so prematurely negative.

"You're not going to need one," says Suga, because Suga picks up on everything. "It'll be fantastic. But you'd better leave now, if you don't want to be late."

"R-right. Okay." Asahi smooths his slacks for about the thirtieth time, and becomes suddenly hyperaware of his empty, sweaty hands. "I should've gotten him flowers!"

"Asahi—"

"I'm going!"

And Asahi goes. Does end up getting flowers, though—there's a shop along the way, so he dashes in to purchase two long-stemmed red roses, blushing at the transparency of it all. He stands outside peeling off the thorns until it's six-fifty, then gets back into his car to drive the rest of the way to the theater.

He didn't go to the movies as often as the second-years did back in high school, but he certainly has fond memories of the tall building with its green, expressive signage. He, Suga, and Daichi caught a few films here—a cerebral art documentary that gave Asahi a headache, and a romantic comedy that made Daichi cry. (He insisted later that he'd been having an allergic reaction to the popcorn. What.)

There was even a rainy day when Asahi had accompanied Noya and Tanaka to some anime premiere after practice, and Noya, sitting in the middle, had fallen asleep. Snoring lightly, head back against the seat, face soft. Thinking he was safe in the dark, Asahi spent a beat too long watching him with the full measure of his fondness, fervid and wistful. Tanaka had caught him staring. He'd narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything. Not that he'd had to. Apparently the only two people who didn't know about Asahi and Noya back then were Asahi and Noya.

But that's going to change tonight. Asahi's lips firm. He's not going to let Noya walk away this evening without knowing how much he loves him. Sitting in his car in the parking lot, Asahi tests the roses' smooth stems one more time, then draws a calm breath. By the time he steps out of the car, he's smiling determinedly. 

He's got this.

*

Every time. Every damn time, Nishinoya Yuu stops Asahi's heart.

Noya's standing by the box office, back toward the parking lot. He's drowning in a maroon hoodie and baggy jeans that Asahi assumes are Tanaka's. As he watches, Noya scuffs one sneakered foot against the pavement, then half-turns—and in the moment before their eyes meet, his expression is uncertain and defenseless, the bruises on his face even worse than they were before.

Then he spots Asahi and breaks into an exquisite smile.

"Asahi-san!" he exclaims.

"Nishinoya," says Asahi. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning too broadly. He goes in for a handshake as Noya spreads his arms, and they laugh, settling into a shy hug. It resets the night's climate with immediate intimacy, so that Asahi isn't embarrassed to present him with the roses. "These are for you."

"Oh—thank you," says Noya, breathless and wide-eyed. He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and sheepishly retrieves a single anemic white flower. A petal falls off as they stare at it. "Uh, you win."

Asahi swallows back his laughter. "No, it's—it's lovely."

"Asahi-san."

"I mean it."

He takes the flower from Noya's hand and replaces it with the roses. Noya clasps them demurely between his hands for a moment, eyelashes lowered. Asahi wonders how much of this hesitancy is caused by his own presence, and how much of it is just Noya now. A fragility unfairly imparted upon him by someone else's abuse. Either way, it's fleeting, and Noya looks up and bumps him with one shoulder, grinning.

"I've got the tickets. Wanna go in?"

"Yeah," says Asahi. He takes a step toward the door—and stops when Noya makes a soft noise of pain behind him.

"Sorry," says Noya. "I gotta walk slow. I, ah—my foot is—um—"

Asahi smiles at him. "There's no hurry."

Once inside, they purchase the biggest tub of popcorn available and find a pair of seats in the back of the auditorium. The crowd is buzzing with excitement. Noya chatters away nonstop, trying to summarize the movie series and all its spinoffs for Asahi before the lights dim. "So it's not _really_ his biological daughter, see," he says, "but neither of them know that, and it doesn't actually matter because they love each other like family anyways, but they've got like tradition and shit riding on this, so the dad is all, 'If she dies, my name dies with her,' and—"

"This is very heartrending for a shoot-'em-up film," says Asahi.

"I know, right?" Noya's quiet for a moment. "You know, the first one actually came out back when I was a second year. I thought about dragging you to go see it."

Asahi blinks at him, at the mistiness of his expression. "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't think it was your kind of thing."

He's not wrong, but— "That wouldn't have mattered, Noya. As long as I was with you."

The roses weren't subtle, but they weren't as explicit as this is. Asahi feels heat creep up the back of his neck. Noya's eyes narrow, searching Asahi's for ridicule, and when he finds none, he swallows audibly and slowly lays one hand on the armrest between them. Asahi does the same, just close enough that their pinkies barely touch.

"Asahi-san," Noya says. "I have always—"

The house lights go down. The title screen fades in. Without even taking a breath to switch emotional gears, Noya whirls back forward and lets out an earsplitting whoop, fists in the air.

Asahi settles back in his seat, smiling. He wouldn't have Noya any other way, bright and animated and being angrily shushed by other moviegoers. The important thing is that they're getting closer and closer to the conversation they need to have. Asahi has already waited seven years. The length of an action film isn't going to kill him.

And it helps that when Noya lowers his arms again, he settles his hand directly atop Asahi's.

*

"I read it was a real plate-glass window! And he hardly ever uses stunt doubles; that was totally him crashing through it and skidding down the conference table and—oh man, the part with the helicopter? Not in the original script. They took a poll, and viewers voted for that instead of the sharks."

"There—there was no ocean in the film? How would—"

"Shh, Asahi-san. Don't question it."

In the passenger seat, Noya is still squirming excitedly, cheeks flushed. Even with his bruises, he looks elated. He and Asahi had managed to get through about ninety percent of the popcorn (eighty percent thanks to Noya), effectively ruining their appetites for anything but tea and dessert. Noya was quick to offer up his apartment for the occasion. _I have popsicles_ , he'd said seductively. As if Asahi needed to be seduced in the first place.

Noya's apartment is in an admittedly rougher part of town, right out of range of the local college. The complex is dimly lit and lacks a proper parking lot. "Sorry," Noya apologizes. "I take the train, so it's not an issue for me."

"It's no problem." Asahi doesn't mind parking further away, but he doesn't want Noya, sore as he is, to have to walk more than he has to. "How about I drop you off, and you start the tea while I park?"

Noya hesitates, clearly wanting to argue. He's been determinedly casual about his injuries all evening, but as the night wears on, his movements grow more and more deliberate. "Okay," he says finally, smiling. "Thanks, Asahi-san."

And before Asahi can reply, Noya leans over and kisses him quickly on the cheek.

Asahi gapes after him as he slides out of the car, shuts the door, and begins hoisting himself up the stairs that lead to his apartment. Half a flight up, he casts a smirk over his shoulder. Little bugger _knows_ what he's doing to Asahi. Asahi sits there numbly with one hand over his cheek for an embarrassingly long time, but eventually he manages to pull away from the curb and drive further down the street in search of parking. He's actually shaking with nerves and anticipation by the time he finds a spot, locks up, and begins walking back toward Noya's.

He loves him. That's what this is. It's nothing new, but Asahi feels reimbued with emotion every time he admits it to himself. Noya has been a part of him since high school—his growth, his character, a standard by which he measures himself and his peers—and though he would never have been so arrogant as to suspect it before tonight, maybe he has been a part of Noya, too.

He's taking one last moment to gather himself at the base of the stairs when he hears the voices. Noya's, angry and tremulous, and one deeper, unfamiliar.

"—can't possibly believe I actually _wanted_ to—"

"I didn't know! I thought you were just—"

"I was bleeding on the floor, Shin! I was _begging_ you to stop!"

Asahi takes the rest of the stairs two at a time. He reaches the fourth story landing to find Noya with his back pressed against his front door, staring up at a large man who’s holding an enormous bouquet of flowers. Next to the two simple roses clenched in Noya's quivering fist, the arrangement looks garish, cheap. Both Noya and the man turn toward Asahi as he takes a step forward.

"Who's this?" the man demands.

Noya doesn't cheapen their relationship, even as his voice shakes: "This is my dear friend, Asahi-san."

The man's expression twists into a snarl. "So you're Asahi? I ought to punch you in the face."

"Yeah, you're fucking good at that, aren't you," says Noya, before Asahi can ask.

Immediately, the man's body language changes. He becomes small and beseeching and repentant; it's simultaneously impressive and revolting. He tries to offer Noya the flowers, though Noya makes no move to accept them. "Yuu, I'm so sorry. I didn't think I'd really hurt you. I know you like getting slapped around sometimes; I wasn't trying to—"

"I don't like that," says Noya evenly.

"What?"

"I don't like getting 'slapped around.' I never have. That's just what you say to make yourself feel better after you beat the shit out of me."

There's a long silence. Asahi's quaking hands tighten on the guardrails. He wants to step in, but Noya's got this; Noya is so beautiful and stable and certain that Asahi could cry. There is absolutely no forgiveness in his stance. He's strongly favoring his left leg and his bruises are almost black in this light, and he has never looked more dignified.

"Please, Yuu," the man says at last, voice thick and desperate. " _Please._ I'll do anything if you take me back."

"Un-rape me," says Noya calmly. "Erase every scar you left on me. Go back to when we first met, before you beat me or choked me out or left me tied up until I pissed myself. I let you hurt me because I didn't think I deserved you. I can't believe I was ever that fucking stupid. You can expect to hear from the police soon, and I hope you rot in prison for the rest of your sorry life." He takes Asahi's hand in his own. His eyes are dark and serene. "Let's go, Asahi."

He opens the door, and Asahi follows him into the dark apartment without looking back. He doesn't hit the bastard because it's crucial that Noya gets the last word in, but if they were alone, Asahi thinks he might be able to kill him. The _horrors_ that Noya suffered. Asahi's eyes burn with tears. Noya has barely closed the door behind him when a furious sob escapes Asahi, and it's so fucked up and incredible that Noya quickly puts the roses down on his counter and reaches to comfort him, stroking his shoulders and making soft, soothing sounds.

"Hey, it's okay," he whispers. "It's okay, Asahi-san."

"You're amazing," says Asahi. He's never meant anything more in his life.

"N-no way. I just—"

Asahi kisses him. Noya's lips are chapped and parted. He moves in with his eyes shut, so he doesn't see Noya's close, but when he pulls away, Noya blindly clasps both palms to his cheeks and hauls him back in with fierce intensity. Their tongues press together. Asahi breaks away to mouth at his jawline, the purpled rings on his throat. Noya's body is so small and hot and steady under his hands.

"I love you," Noya breathes, arms around Asahi's neck. "I love you so much."

"I love you too. I've always loved you."

"I know."

They kiss for a long time, Noya on tiptoe until Asahi realizes he's straining and stoops down to accommodate him. Their lips are swollen when they break apart. Noya pants against his shoulder. After he catches his breath, he tilts past Asahi to peer through the eyehole.

"Okay, he's gone. Come on. Let's go to my room and—"

He turns on the lights, and Asahi feels him stiffen. He doesn't realize why until he looks out across the entryway.

Blood coats the floor. A small overturned table and broken lamp evidence a terrible struggle. The pictures on the wall are crooked, and there's a dent in the plaster near the bathroom doorframe, where three deep fingernail scratches have dragged through the paint. And there are—other stains. Unspeakable substances caked on the hardwood. Asahi has to turn away, and he draws Noya with him, hunching over him to hide the scene from his view.

But it's too late. Noya sinks slowly to his knees, arms folded over his abdomen. Asahi strokes the hair out of his face as he closes in on himself. Wordlessly, Noya begins to cry, silent sobs wracking his body.

"Noya," Asahi whispers. "You're safe, Noya, okay?"

"Don't leave me," Noya chokes out, grabbing at his shirt.

Asahi catches his hand and folds it into his own, right over his thudding heart. "I'm not going anywhere."

They sit there together. Long enough that Asahi's knees begin aching, and his wrists grow stiff, and Noya cries himself out against the crook of his neck. Asahi closes his eyes and listens to his hot, damp breaths. God, Noya is so fucking _brave_. He pulls him closer into his lap and kisses his tear-stained cheeks over and over, resting his lips there until Noya's grip goes lax from exhaustion.

Tucking one elbow behind Noya's knees, Asahi lifts him into his arms and carries him down the hall to his bedroom. He has to step over the stains, the table. He doesn't look. Neither does Noya, who buries his face in Asahi's hair, shuddering.

Noya's room is charmingly messy. Popsicle wrappers litter the desk, and there's a volleyball wedged in the corner between the wall and a line of scuffed sneakers. Asahi turns on the bedside lamp and lays Noya gently on the bed. Immediately, Noya begins wriggling out of his jeans, and after a moment of hesitation, Asahi reaches for the bottom hems and pulls down to help him. He doesn't think much of it, doesn't think Noya's doing anything but getting comfortable, until he looks up and sees that Noya is taking off his shirt, too.

"Asahi," he says. His voice is hoarse and quiet. "Lie down with me."

Asahi freezes. "Noya—"

"Please, Asahi-san. I want you."

Similar scenes have played out in Asahi's head so many times. He's ached for those words, for Noya lying before him, eyes bright and wanting. But this is wrong. Noya's inner thighs are layered in bruises. His cheeks are swollen from crying, and he's already spreading his legs, one hand creeping toward his boxers. Asahi stops him with a small but firm shake of the head.

"You need to rest now."

"I'm fine," Noya says. "I wanna feel you. Please, let's just—"

"I love you, Noya. Please don't ask me to take advantage of you when you're hurting."

Noya quiets. His hands fall back to his sides, and he stares up at the ceiling for a long time, chest rising and falling with every quiet breath. "I feel so fucked up," he says at last. He looks at Asahi, eyes wet again. "Shin knew about you because I once called your name in bed."

Asahi doesn't know how to respond to that. He waits, throat tight.

"My pajamas are in that drawer there," says Noya. "Could you please—?"

"Yes." Asahi fetches him a soft-looking t-shirt and a warm pair of pajama bottoms. He helps Noya put them on, and there's no suggestiveness in it; he keeps his grip platonic and Noya winces in pain several times, smoothing the cotton down over his abused body. After he's dressed, he settles back into bed. The lamp on his bedside table is still on, and Noya catches Asahi's wrist when he moves to turn it off.

"Keep it on, please?"

"Of course," says Asahi. He strokes Noya's hair off his forehead. His face is very warm.

"Sleep with me. Not to do anything, just—just hold me."

"I will. There are a few things I need to do first, okay? I promise I'll be right there."

"Okay."

Asahi waits until Noya's respiration has slowed to something resembling sleep, then lays a tender kiss on the bruised crest of his cheekbone. "I love you," he whispers. Watches Noya's tense face relax, his small fists uncurl. Then he stands up and quietly exits the room.

The entryway is no easier to see the second time. Asahi has to fight a wave of nausea, heartsick and revolted. When he finally manages to get his shaking hands steady enough to unlock his phone, he takes pictures of the scene. Every angle he can think of, every stain, every scratch. Anything at all that can be taken as proof. He knows that Suga collected abundant forensic evidence in the hospital, but you can't be too sure; you can't take any chances when it's possible that a man like Noya's ex-boyfriend could walk free. Asahi takes picture after picture. When he's satisfied that he's preserved every aspect of the confrontation, he lowers his phone and texts Daichi.

_Ran into Noya's ex. Staying with him tonight, things not good. Take care of Suga._

He doesn't have to wait long for a reply. Daichi responds fast, his message strong and assured, like he is:

_I always do. You and Nishinoya be safe. We'll talk soon._

Smiling a little, Asahi pockets his phone. Whatever this mess is, they're in it together—him and Suga and Daichi, Tanaka too—and while God knows Noya doesn't lack for strength, some help from loved ones doesn't hurt.

Asahi finds cleaning supplies in a hallway closet and mops the floor. There's not much he can do about the broken lamp or the scratch marks on the moulding, but he rights the table and straightens the photographs. One of them is a group shot of the volleyball team from Noya's second year. Asahi stares at it for a long moment, feeling a strange tightness in his stomach that might be pride or sadness or both. The picture is hanging on the highest nail.

He's sweetly redolent with the citrusy scent of cleaning products by the time he slips into bed with Noya, who immediately rolls over in his sleep and drapes an arm over his chest. Asahi presses his face to Noya's hair, inhaling deeply. He squeezes his eyes shut. He aches with pure admiration. 

Today has confirmed what he already knew: Noya is changed, but unbroken. Noya is stronger than what has been done to him. No matter how malevolent or pervasive or excruciating the trauma was, it can't erase the kisses he shared with Asahi today, or the years and years they have of loving each other. Noya is the most incredible person Asahi has ever met. He's going to get through this, and Asahi is going to be there every step of the way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has one more chapter in it than I thought it did! Thanks for reading so far!

Noya wakes up in pain.

His thighs hurt. His hips hurt. His wrists hurt, for fuck's sake, and his jaw hurts from clenching it in his sleep. Before he rolls over or opens his eyes, he reaches for Shin. Not for comfort—Shin doesn't comfort him, not anymore—but to know he's not alone. Somedays that's enough.

Somedays it isn't.

He doesn't know when the loneliness set in. One day he just woke up feeling like he'd missed all of his chances. Ryuu did everything he could to get him out of his funk—took him out to movies, texted him ridiculous jokes, even got him back in touch with Kiyoko-san—but the melancholy was persistent, and coaching was his only real escape. When he met Shin on the train platform after practice one evening, his defenses were down. _Let me take you out to dinner_ , the man had said. And Noya let him. Because as alone as he felt then, as many regrets as he had, he knew it couldn't possibly get any worse.

And for two months, Noya was revitalized. Shin got him laughing again, bought him flowers, messaged him with terrible poetry and sports articles he thought Noya would enjoy. He made him feel special. Cared for. When their relationship inevitably became physical, Noya gave himself up to it fully and passionately: Shin was his first in a dozen different capacities, and if Noya spent any time thinking of what could've happened instead, _who_ could've happened instead, he didn't let on. Shin was already so much more than he deserved. Their coupling was avid and relentless. When Shin started saying 'I love you' after sex, Noya said it back.

The first time Shin struck him, he had it coming. 

He still doesn't know where it came from. At the apex of their lovemaking, the name just spilled out of him: _Asahi_. His dearest memory; a dream he hadn't had in ages. He didn't even have time to apologize before Shin slapped him across the face.

 _I'm sorry_ , he remembers sobbing, crouched low in dogeza. _I'm so sorry, Shin; I don't even know him anymore_. But Shin kept pulling away from his touch, disgusted and furious. When he finally acknowledged him again, it was to wrap his fingers around his throat.

So, really, it was Noya who set the precedent for—abuse? Could he call it abuse, when he deserved it? Shin grew cold after that, angry, but the aftercare remained tender whenever Noya made the effort to accommodate his sexual urges. That meant beatings, sometimes. Dangerous breathplay. There were a few weeks of bondage that made Noya terrified of tight clothing and enclosed spaces, but after that, Shin began to warm up to him again. The romantic dinners resumed. They started kissing again. If it weren't for Ryuu, Noya might've stayed in the relationship indefinitely.

 _You've got to break it off with him_ , Ryuu had said, lifting a bag of ice to run his thumb gingerly across Noya's bruised browbone.

 _But things are going so well now_ , Noya insisted.

_No. It got bad once, it'll get bad again._

_Ryuu—_

_Noya, please._ Please. _I can't take this anymore. I can't keep watching him hurt you_.

Ryuu had cried in front of him before, but not like this—not hunched over so small, holding Noya's hands tightly in his own. And Noya realized then that he couldn't do this anymore. Not to Ryuu, not to himself. _Tomorrow_ , he told himself. Tomorrow for sure.

And it took him a week, but he did it. He ended it with Shin, standing in the entryway of his apartment. He doesn't even remember what he said—something about needing space, needing time to work on himself—before Shin hit him. Hit him and hit him and didn't stop, and when Noya was on the floor, he twisted one arm behind his back and reached for the button on his jeans.

After that, it's just pain. Pain and shame and his vision graying out, Shin's hands on his throat. And in that darkness, Noya thought, _Asahi-san. Asahi, I never got to love you right. Asahi—_

"Asahi!" Noya sobs. He's going to catch a beating for it, but in that moment, he has to say his name. He curls up into a ball, shaking—and thrashes violently when someone folds their arms around him from behind.

"Noya! Noya, shh, I'm here!"

Noya stills, panting. His heart is pounding. It can't be. It fucking _can't_ be.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," says Asahi. "I promise, you're safe here. It's going to be okay."

Noya turns, then, unable to believe it, and Asahi smiles so softly at him, fingers tender on his cheekbones. It's instant: Noya bursts into tears. Asahi pulls him close, and Noya sobs into his wrinkled green shirt, quaking. It's been so long since he's woken up to gentle hands and words. Even with the pain in his arms and pelvis, he has never felt more blessed. "Asahi-san," he says, over and over. He can't stop himself. "Asahi-san. _Asahi_."

Asahi lays kisses in his hair, stroking his back. When Noya fails to calm, he begins to hum—something low and indistinct that vibrates deep in his chest. Bit by bit, Noya relaxes. Shin's not here. Asahi's not going to let anything happen to him. Noya squeezes him hard around the waist. He cries harder than he ever has in his life, and it feels amazing. 

It takes nearly an hour for it to pass. Even when the crying stops, the shaking continues. Asahi holds him until he's stable, not speaking, always ready with a smile when Noya looks up at him in disbelief. It's a long time before Noya feels it's real enough for him to actually kiss Asahi. Asahi kisses back. It's faint and close-mouthed. Perfect. Noya's breathing hard when he finally speaks up, his voice hoarse and watery.

"I didn't give you pajamas."

Asahi stares at him with surprise, glancing down at himself and his clothes before laughing a little. "I don't think you have anything that would've fit me anyway."

"You could've slept naked."

"Are we already making those types of jokes?"

"Apparently." Noya tries to sit up. It's hard; Asahi has to help him. When they're both upright, Noya leans in and kisses him again, teasing his stubble with his fingertips. He waits until their eyes have met before speaking. "You know that I can never thank you enough, right?" he whispers.

"For what?" says Asahi, blinking.

"For saving me."

Asahi shakes his head. A sheaf of hair slips from behind his ear; he strokes it back before bringing his hand to Noya's face. "You saved yourself," he says. "Please understand that. You are so beautiful and so, so brave, Noya."

Noya doesn't feel beautiful or brave. He feels weak and foolish and undeserving. He hugs his knees as tightly as he can to his chest, closing in on himself, and shies away when Asahi tries to touch his shoulder. Asahi doesn't take it personally, humming softly and reaching for something on Noya's bedside table. A second later, he's pressing his phone into Noya's palm. There's already a name and number pulled up on the screen: Sugawara Koushi.

"I think there's enough battery left for a quick call," says Asahi.

Noya looks up at him, confused. "Why Suga-san?"

"I think he might have some helpful things to say. Just ask him to talk to you about it, okay? He won't mind me telling you."

Whatever the hell that means. Noya wants to balk, but it doesn't sound so bad right now, hearing Suga's kind, perceptive voice. Hesitantly, he presses the call button and lifts the phone to his ear. It only rings once before someone picks up. Noya doesn't have time to prepare; Suga begins talking immediately.

"Asahi! How are you? How is he? Daichi says you ran into his ex!"

"Um, yeah," says Noya, and Suga draws in a fast, apologetic breath.

"Oh, Noya, I'm sorry! I—"

"Don't worry. I guess I'm—flattered you were talking about me?"

"What else could possibly be more important to us than your safety right now?" asks Suga, and the frankness of his tone makes Noya's eyes well up. He turns his head away, hiding from Asahi. Suga's voice softens. "Are you okay? What happened last night?"

"Well, the movie was really good," says Noya, knowing it isn't what Suga's asking, but uncertain where else to start. "The guy was finally reunited with his daughter, and there were all these awesome stunts. The ending even left room for another sequel." He swallows hard. Then, a little closer to the meat of it: "Asahi-san brought me flowers. We held hands. He drove me back to my place, and we were going to have tea and stuff, but when we got here—like, Asahi-san was parking the car, and I went up my apartment, and he—Shin—he was just—"

Suga waits for a long time before making a gentle 'go on' sound.

"He wanted me to take him back," Noya says, and laughs a laugh that's more of a sob. "Can you believe it? That _I_ could have that much power over someone, with how dumb and ugly and pathetic I am?"

Asahi's hands ball into fists, and Suga calmly says, "You are none of those things," simply and almost dismissively, as if stating an undisputable fact. "What did you say to him?"

"I told him I never liked it when he hurt me. I told him I was pressing charges."

Suga gasps. It sounds choked. "Noya, that's such amazing news! I'm—I'm so happy and proud of you. You're so _brave_."

That word again. "I'm not. I—"

"You are. You absolutely are."

The two of them are quiet for a moment. Noya snuffles into the shoulder of his t-shirt, and Asahi passes him a box of tissues. Noya takes a handful and blows his nose. Asahi gently tugs at him again, and this time Noya lets him pull him against his side, clutching at him with his free hand. Suga's silent on the other end of the line. Daichi murmurs something in the background, and Noya knows that they've both got support now, that they're both being loved.

"Asahi probably wants me to talk to you about what happened three years ago," says Suga at last.

Noya waits. A terrible feeling is unfolding in his stomach; his fingers clench around the phone.

"In my third year of college, I went to a party with some classmates. Daichi was sick at home, and I felt nervous being there by myself, so I had a little too much to drink. Ended up alone with this guy from my pharmacology class. He didn't—it wasn't like what your ex did to you. He didn't _hurt_ me—"

Daichi says something indistinct then, firm and angry.

"I mean, he didn't hit me or anything," Suga clarifies. "He didn't have to. I was pretty out of it."

"Suga-san," says Noya miserably. He buries his face against the crook of Asahi's neck.

"Anyway, the nurse who helped me afterward was so kind. She was the one who inspired me to enroll in the forensics courses at school. I ultimately decided not to file a police report, but I really wish I had. I guess I still could, though the odds of a conviction are low, even immediately following an assault. But Noya—I'm positive your chances are better than mine. He injured you so badly. There was more evidence, and you're stronger than I am. If anyone can jump through all the legal hoops, it's you."

"I'm not stronger than you," Noya says. After what Suga just told him, it's pale and insufficient, but he has to make that clear. "If I could have just half your courage, I would be happy."

"Helps to have someone around who supports me unconditionally," says Suga. "Maybe you know a little something about that now, too."

"Maybe I do." Noya gazes up at Asahi, and finds himself grinning for the first time that morning.

Asahi smiles back. He tenderly strokes Noya's hair.

"Oh—I'd better go," says Suga suddenly. "I've got work in about an hour."

"Okay," says Noya. "Suga-san—thank you so much for—for everything. For telling me and for believing in me."

"We're just glad to have you back in our lives. Hey, dinner tonight?"

"Yeah!"

"Tell Tanaka. I'll talk to you later, Noya."

"Bye," says Noya, a mere second or two before Asahi's phone dies.

He lets his hand fall back to his side. Asahi is regarding him with curiosity and helpless affection, and after a moment, Noya swings one sore leg over to straddle Asahi's lap. He can't quite bring himself to meet his eyes yet, so he stares at his lips instead. He leans forward and kisses him slow and soft. Asahi kisses back, hands gingerly resting on Noya's hips.

"Did talking to Suga help at all?" Asahi asks, once they've disengaged.

"It did. I admired him and Daichi-san so much back then; I can't believe I ever let them go." He cups Asahi's cheeks, his stubble raspy under his thumbs. "And you, Asahi-san."

"I let you go too," says Asahi ruefully.

"Why?" asks Noya. "Why didn't this happen between us sooner?"

"Because we were afraid, I think. At least I was. I didn't think I could ever be enough for you, so I took the easy way out. Can you ever forgive me for leaving you?"

"Nothing to forgive. I could've made a move, but I didn't. I was scared, too. I was scared to live in a world where you didn't love me."

Asahi surges forward to kiss him again, catching him with his mouth open in surprise. His tongue gently touches Noya's. Noya kisses him back deeply, fingers in his hair, and doesn't care that it makes his shoulders and jaw ache. They sit there for a long time, just tasting and exploring each other. Noya reaches for the clasp on Asahi's trousers when his body begins to burn. Asahi smoothly stills his hands with his own, pulling them toward his face, and presses a kiss to each contused wrist. It's a quiet gesture. Noya doesn't feel rejected. He rests his forehead against Asahi's, panting softly.

"When you go back to Tokyo," he says, heart pounding in his throat, "can I go with you?"

Asahi smiles. He strokes Noya's cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm not going back to Tokyo," he says, voice deep and breathy.

Noya pulls back so fast that his spine creaks. "What?"

"Well, I do have to pick up my last paycheck from work in a few days, but after that, I'm moving back here. All of my stuff is in my hotel room. It didn't amount to much."

Noya tries to swallow. He's suddenly shaking. "Don't fuck with me, Asahi-san."

"I'm not. I promise I'm not."

For a second, Noya forgets how to speak or move or breathe. This has to be a dream. His lonely, terror-filled life could not have turned around this quickly. But this is Asahi here, leaning in to kiss him; it's Asahi's hands on his face, brushing away the tears that are suddenly slipping from his eyes. Noya hurls his arms around Asahi's neck and squeezes as tight as he can. He didn't think it was possible to cry so much in one day. Asahi holds him while he trembles, murmuring.

"We have a lot of lost time to make up for, Nishinoya. I've got a job managing a restaurant in town. That should be enough for us to get an apartment together, if that's what you want, or I could live nearby—"

"I want you as close to me as possible," says Noya. "And I want to move out. I can't stay here anymore, Asahi-san; I just—I just _can't_ —not when he knows where I—"

"I understand. We'll get you out of here."

"Anywhere else's fine. As long as it's with you."

"I'm not going to leave you, Noya."

Noya shudders, gulping back a sob, then laughs wetly. "Maybe we can live close enough to Ryuu to play that game where you ring the doorbell and then run away."

Asahi chuckles. "Maybe."

"I wouldn't do that if Suga-san and Daichi-san were our neighbors, though."

"Ah—they don't even know that I'm moving back yet. I was going to surprise them, I guess? I don't know why I haven't said anything. Maybe I was just afraid that they wouldn't want me here."

"They love you," says Noya firmly. It's obvious.

"Y-yeah. You're right."

"Suga invited us to dinner. You should tell them tonight."

"Okay. I will."

Noya pulls away, wiping his face with his arm. He studies Asahi. He looks different, somehow. Older, yes, but sturdier. His hair frames his face, accentuating his handsome bone structure, and the mouth that was always set in apprehension in high school is stable and smiling now, heartening in its certainty. Is it possible that he got stronger to make up for the fact that Noya got weaker?

This must show in his eyes, because Asahi tucks an arm around his waist and hitches him closer in his lap. "I can't imagine what you've been through," he says huskily, "but you are incredible for surviving it. Don't ever think that it ruined you somehow, okay? You are intact, and you're surrounded by friends who love and admire you. None of this should've happened, but you're even stronger for it. You're going to make it through this, Noya."

As nonchalantly as he can, Noya nods, though his trembling lips betray him. He presses them together.

"Now, let's get some breakfast," says Asahi, giving him a quick peck on the cheek and patting his leg until he shifts away. "Do you have anything here, or shall we go out?"

"Let's go out," says Noya. He doesn't want to spend any more time in the apartment than he has to. He climbs off of Asahi and stretches, and the aches in his body feel a little better, a little less tight. He crosses the room to his dresser—and pauses in mid-step when he passes by the open door that leads to his hall.

The entryway is clean. No blood, no semen; the pictures are hanging straight, and the little end table is upright in its usual place against the wall. Noya still remembers what happened there—it's going to reverberate in him for a long time, he realizes—but this is so close to normalcy that he can face it again. He turns to Asahi, eyes stinging. Asahi just smiles at him, stands, and bends down to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"My stuff is at Suga and Daichi's," he says. "I should get over there to change my clothes and charge my phone. Want to come?"

"Yeah!"

"Suga's probably going to be at work, but maybe Daichi would like to join us."

"That'd be awesome. Can I invite Ryuu?"

"Of course. It was so good seeing him the other night."

They grin at each other. Noya breaks eye contact only to send Ryuu a quick text, then looks up, feeling Asahi's gaze hot upon him. With some of the heavy stuff out of the way, his face is bright and excited, and Noya can feel that same sort of elation dawning in his own expression. He links their hands between them and swings them back and forth, flirting. "So can I call you my boyfriend now?" he asks shyly.

"You definitely can," says Asahi. "Can—can I call you mine?"

"That was the implication, yes." He arches up on his tiptoes and kisses Asahi's chin, laughing when Asahi flushes bright red, even though he'd been in his lap only moments earlier. "I'm going to change. The bathroom is to the left, if you need it."

"Thanks," says Asahi. Instead of turning to leave, he backs out of the room without breaking eye contact, bumping into the doorframe along the way. "Ouch."

"Dumb," says Noya.

Once Asahi has shut the bathroom door behind him, Noya sets to work peeling off his pajamas. The pain's still there, dull, but not throbbing as much. He's careful not to look at himself as he strips. He'd made the mistake of doing that before his shower at Ryuu's, and Ryuu'd had to come in there and rock his naked ass body as he sobbed.

God, he couldn't ask for better friends. Ryuu's tireless encouragement, Suga's compassion and openness, Daichi's calm support. And Asahi's—Asahi's everything. Noya's not naïve or meek enough to believe that ending up with Asahi was any sort of recompense for what Shin did to him, but they're together now, and there has to be someone to thank for that. For something so fucking miraculous. Noya smiles to himself, remembering how Asahi had gently refused him the night before, and just now in bed. _Don't ask me to take advantage of you when you're hurting._ He knew Noya wasn't ready. He refused to let Noya show that little respect for himself.

Noya runs his hands slowly down his arms, his ribs, his thighs. Pauses at each junction, just feeling the skin beneath his fingertips. For the first time in four months, he feels like his small, beaten body is his own again: he doesn't have to lie in Shin's bed today; he doesn't have to shut up and open his legs or his mouth. He can give himself freely, or not at all. There's a power in that that he had forgotten.

He smiles.

It feels good.

*

Suga's already at work by the time they reach his apartment, but Daichi has tea waiting, and he doesn't comment on Noya's mussed hair or swollen eyes. "How was the movie?" he asks instead, smiling, and Noya eagerly launches into a scene-by-scene recap that lasts all the way through Asahi's shower and subsequent redressing. It's only when he emerges from the bedroom in fresh clothing that Noya realizes how much talking he'd done.

"Oh, sorry, Daichi-san," he says, embarrassed.

"I'm glad it was fun," Daichi replies. His grin is more than polite; it's soft and fond, and it widens when Asahi crosses the room and drops a kiss on Noya's brow. "So—you and this gigantic loser are—?"

"Hey, don't talk about my boyfriend like that," says Noya, hugging Asahi around the waist.

Daichi looks delighted. He clasps their shoulders, glancing between them on the verge of what is sure to be a very emotional speech, then shakes his head and reluctantly lets it pass. "Let's go to Nakajima for breakfast," he says instead. "They have good mackerel. Can Tanaka make it?"

Noya checks his phone. He's got a new text: _Yeah!! Just tell me where/when._ He shoots off a quick reply with the location. "Yeah, he's coming."

"Great. Suga will be sorry he missed it, but we'll do dinner."

"We'll eat extra tofu in his honor," says Noya.

"Drink too much water and wonder why we're so full," says Daichi.

"Giggle helplessly at our own puns," says Asahi.

They laugh. Daichi pats Noya's back, and Noya feels a fiery wave of affection. Now that Daichi and Suga are back in his life, he can't imagine how he lived so long without them.

They leave shortly after, opting for the train instead of Asahi's car, which contains a few telling suitcases. Noya wonders if Asahi's going to tell Daichi he's moving back at breakfast, or if he's going to wait until Suga's there, too. He still doesn't know why Asahi's so reluctant. Now that he's seen them together again, he knows that there's no way Suga and Daichi would have a negative reaction to his coming back home. Maybe it's about the change. Even Noya himself has grown afraid of it in the last year or so. Afraid to make things worse, afraid to be alone. But some change, he reminds himself, hand warm in Asahi's, is good.

Ryuu beats them to the restaurant and has a table waiting for them when they get there. He's obligated to none of Daichi's social formalities, so he says immediately, "Holy shit, Noya. You look like garbage."

"I was weeping like all morning," says Noya. "What's your excuse?"

"This is how I always look," Ryuu gasps, hand to his chest. He elbows Noya lightly as he sits down beside him, concern thinly concealed behind a casual smile. "You okay now, bro?"

"I'm great," says Noya, beaming. He touches Asahi's shoulder, the gesture quick and unmistakable. "I'm fucking great."

Conversation flows smoothly, and the food is excellent. Noya had forgotten how much Daichi could eat; between the two of them, they pack away an obscene number of dishes. It's like old times, back when they'd go out together after tournaments or practice matches. Makes Noya miss the others, though. He hasn't spoken to Kageyama or Tsukishima in ages. He and Shouyou still call for each other's birthdays, but his contact with Yamaguchi is limited to Christmas cards. And he never really got close to the first-years before he graduated. Didn't have something as harrowing as making nationals to bond over.

He supposes that's why he used to think his second-year was going to be the apex of his life. Nothing had ever matched that glory—at least until now. Noya just can't stop staring at Asahi. Asahi catches him, smiling down at him with tenderness and no small amount of disbelief.

"Where's Suga-san?" asks Ryuu, politely ignoring what must've been their thirtieth moment or so.

"Working," says Daichi.

"I get the impression he does that a lot."

"Yes, but he'll be able to cut back on his hours soon. I accepted a job offer yesterday that has career potential."

"Hey, congrats!" says Ryuu, toasting him with his tea. "Good to start thinking about the future, right?"

"Yeah," Daichi says, uncharacteristically reticent. He hesitates. Then he slowly reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small velvet box, and sets it on the table.

Noya and Ryuu stare at it for a few long seconds before they get it. Ryuu whoops, fists in the air, and Noya gasps and reaches to fumble the box open. The ring is fucking gorgeous: slim and silver with pinkish-gold bands, no distracting rock; just smooth and simple and elegant, like Suga is. Noya can already see how amazing it's going to look on his finger. He looks up at Daichi, eager for details.

But Daichi seems more uneasy than anything. Something in his eyes is almost desperate. "I don't know," he says.

"What are you worried about?" Noya shouts, putting the ring down so he can smack both hands on the table. One of the waitresses shushes him, and Noya drops his voice a few decibels: "Daichi-san, he's going to be thrilled! There's no way he'll say no!"

"We've only ever been with each other," says Daichi.

"So?"

"So what if he just doesn't know there's someone better for him out there? What if I'm being selfish, trying to deny him a chance to be happier?"

Before Noya can even begin to address that load of bullshit, Asahi says, "Daichi, that's absurd."

Daichi turns toward him. "But—"

"No. Suga will never love anyone more than he loves you."

His tone is inarguable. Daichi stares at him, his gaze misty, and Noya feels an inappropriate little twist of arousal at Asahi's unyielding confidence. He nods firmly to Daichi. Across from him, Ryuu is doing the same. Daichi glances at each of them in turn, then the ring, sitting innocuously at the center of the table in its pale blue box. Then he nods, too. Just once, curt and certain.

"Okay," he says. "I'll ask him."

A cheer goes up around the table. They get shushed again. They adjust their merriment to a slightly lower volume, and a shy grin begins to dawn on Daichi's face as he reaches out and pockets the box.

"It's probably not going to be anything extravagant," he says. "I don't think Suga would care for flash mobs and white doves. But I'd like you all to be there."

"Wouldn't miss it," says Ryuu.

"Can you make dinner with us?"

"You're gonna do it _tonight_?"

"No!" He pauses. "Probably not? No— _no_. This is just to hang out with Asahi before he leaves town."

Noya looks at Asahi questioningly, but he doesn't use the opening to let them know about his upcoming move. Apparently he's going to wait to tell Daichi and Suga at the same time. Again, Noya wonders about his reticence. Is this about not feeling worthy? Included? Or is it just another unknowable Asahi thing, one that makes him so soft and shy and perfect? Noya knows it might fluster Asahi, but he can't help it: he leans in and kisses him lingeringly on the mouth, hands resting on his thigh. Asahi blushes so hard that Noya can feel the warmth on his own cheeks, but he doesn't pull away.

The moment's only broken when Ryuu straight up roars in triumph.

"Okay, get out," says the restaurant owner, and while Daichi and Asahi are stammering and bowing their apologies, Noya grins at Ryuu.

"You're crying, dude," he says.

"Shut up," says Ryuu, dragging his arm across his eyes. " _You're_ crying."

Once their meal has been paid for and they've expressed proper contrition for the disturbances, they part ways so Ryuu can go to work and Daichi can run some errands. Asahi and Noya sit together on a park bench for a while before Asahi tentatively invites him back to the hotel room where he's storing his belongings. "Not to—not for that, but to rest," he clarifies, flushing a little. "Maybe watch some television or something."

"That sounds great," says Noya. He threads his fingers through Asahi's, and they take the train back to the hotel, content to sit together in silence.

When they get there, though, and the door is shut securely behind them, Noya pulls Asahi down for another kiss. Asahi kisses back. One of his hands falls to Noya's waist and rests there gingerly, finger idly slipping through a belt loop, and Noya carefully touches Asahi's chest. It's broad and muscled. When he flattens his palm against it, he can feel his heartbeat. Asahi guides him to the bed, and they lie down together, hands and lips chaste as they explore each other. Noya waits for a long time before he tries to reach into Asahi's slacks.

Asahi shifts away.

"Noya," he says. His voice holds no notes of warning—just concern.

"Sorry, sorry," says Noya. "I just—I don't want you to leave me."

Now Asahi pulls back in earnest, propping himself up on his elbows so he can meet Noya's eyes below him. His face is unreadable. "I'm not going to leave you," he says. "I'm _never_ going to leave you. Do you understand?"

Noya swallows hard. Asahi's expression unfurls him, leaves him wide open. He drops his gaze.

"Did he—did he say he'd leave you? If you didn't have sex with him?"

"I mean, that's not unreasonable," says Noya. "That's what a relationship is, you know? What use am I to you if I don't put out?"

Asahi sits up all the way. He puts his head in his hands, shoulders hunched. Alarmed, Noya scoots upright, tentatively reaching out to touch his back. A terrible, cold feeling is coursing through him.

"Asahi-san, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad."

"I'm not mad," says Asahi. "I—Noya, _god_."

Noya's eyes are welling up. He's _terrified_. Is this it already? Is this what's going to break them? He's physically tensing up to climb off the bed and hurl himself at Asahi's feet when Asahi turns and catches him in a shaky, fervent hug. His lips rest at the crook of Noya's neck, and he kisses him there, over and over. Noya melts into it. He clenches his fingers white in Asahi's shirt.

"It's not your job to be of use to anyone," Asahi says. "Just be you. That's the greatest gift I could ever imagine. And please promise me now that you'll never have sex with me if you don't want to."

"Asahi-san—"

"Promise me."

Slowly, Noya nods. He can hardly wrap his mind around this. "You don't want me?" he asks, voice small.

Asahi leans in and presses his cheek against Noya's, just lingering there, arms around Noya's shoulders. It's enough of an answer that Noya doesn't have to pursue it further. Asahi's embrace is charged, but undemanding. Long after Noya assumes he isn't going to speak, he says, quietly, "I could kill him for what he did to you."

Tears begin trickling from Noya's eyes again. He urges Asahi back down onto the bed, and Asahi goes willingly, folding him firmly against his chest. Noya doesn't think he's cried as much in his entire life as he has today. And Asahi just lets him. Holds him while the tremors work themselves out, no judgement, no hesitation. Noya rolls over so he can nestle into the curl of Asahi's strong body. He feels so different from Shin. Same height, but different build, and Shin's arms always vacillated between possessive and clinical. No in-between. Hot or cold. With Asahi, all Noya can think is _warm_. Warm, and protected.

*

Noya sleeps through the morning and most of the afternoon. When he wakes, Asahi's still there, dozing, and Noya turns on the TV and watches half of a terrible romance before Asahi begins to stir. They lie there for a long time, just breathing each other in. Then they get up and idly sort through Asahi's meager belongings.

It's mostly pots and pans and dishes. There's a coffeemaker, some mouthwash. He's got three pairs of the exact same shoes, which Noya makes fun of him mightily for, until he comes across all the volleyball memorabilia: his kneepad and jacket, a program from nationals, some pictures—they're the most personal of Asahi's possessions, and nostalgia sweeps over Noya in soothing waves as he admires each item in turn. He'd loved Asahi back then, of course, but that longing has changed, somehow. Turned into something less sharp and needy. He feels relief when he's with him now; something he hasn't felt since the first time Shin raised a hand to him. Asahi would never hit him. Every moment, Noya realizes more and more that that's a reality.

Dinnertime rolls around, and the two of them head out to meet Suga, Daichi, and Ryuu at an izakaya near Suga's hospital. They drink a lot of beer and eat a lot of karaage. Ryuu's got a sprained finger from hastily intercepting a volleyball that'd been heading toward a student's face, so Noya feeds him himself.

"Poor baby," he coos, purposely offering him a long piece of gobo vertically instead of horizontally.

"Funny," says Ryuu. He grabs Noya's hand and holds it still while he eats.

"People are going to think you two are dating," says Suga, grinning.

Daichi prods Asahi. "Jealous?"

"A little," Asahi admits, and Noya pats his knee.

"Don't worry, darling," he says. "He means nothing to me."

"Thanks," says Ryuu, his voice amused and unoffended. "See if I buy you any dessert now."

He does, though, at a little patisserie down the street. Noya gets strawberry roll cake to share with Asahi, and Daichi, Suga, and Ryuu get fruit tarts. It's a nice, sedate time after the noise of the izakaya. They chat about their days, meals and chores and work. When conversation unavoidably turns toward the end of Asahi's visit, Noya feels him tense up. He squeezes his hand under the table. Asahi smiles at him, his eyes dark and uncertain, and takes a deep breath.

"About that," he says. "About going home."

Daichi and Suga glance up at him. Their attention is immediate and engaged, both from the tone of his voice and their default respect for him. Noya's not sure if he's imagining it or not, but Suga looks like he might be hopeful.

"I'm moving back here," says Asahi. "I'm going to be managing a new branch of the restaurant. I accepted the job because it means less time interacting with customers—a lot of behind-the-scenes stuff, you know—and I wanted to be closer to you guys. I'll be living here permanently by the end of the month. I—I hope that I won't be an imposition."

"Asahi," says Daichi calmly, clasping his shoulder, "you're ridiculous."

He tugs Asahi into a hard, persistent hug. He only lets him go when Suga begins nudging them impatiently, waiting for Asahi with his own vigorous embrace. Both of them are grinning radiantly. They hold him like proud parents, without the patronization. Asahi stares at Noya with a sort of numb disbelief until Noya gives him an impatient go-ahead gesture. Slowly, Asahi relaxes. He hugs Daichi and Suga back. A smile dawns on his face, soft and gorgeous, and he lets his eyes close.

Beside Noya, Ryuu hooks an arm around him. "Happy ending," he says fondly.

"Looks like it, huh?" says Noya.

"What are you gonna do?"

"We're moving in together, I think. Either way, I'm getting out of that apartment. Did you hear Shin came over last night to try to win me back?"

Ryuu pulls away fast, but his fingertips stay on Noya's shoulder. "No. What the fuck. What happened?"

"Told him to leave," says Noya. He stares at his hands in his lap, feeling simultaneously vulnerable and strong. He lowers his voice so the others can't hear them, caught up as they are in their own eager discussion. "I wouldn't have been able to do it without Asahi there. He had my back, made me feel protected. But I can't stay there alone anymore. Ryuu—do you think I could—?"

"Stay with me as long as you like," says Ryuu. "You never have to ask, okay? Whenever you want. You know that."

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do."

Without realizing he was going to move, Noya leans into Ryuu, who immediately pulls him closer. He smells so familiar, warm and fresh and peppery. For not the first time, Noya realizes that he never would've survived this year without Ryuu. He would have had nowhere to go after Shin battered him. He would still be in that relationship, even as the violence continued to escalate; he would've lain there on his apartment floor until Shin returned to apologize or beat him or fuck him again.

He never would've been reunited with Asahi.

"Ryuu," says Noya quietly.

"You don't have to say anything," says Ryuu easily.

"I want to. It's like—there's no way to thank you for what you've done for me. You saved my fucking life."

"I don't know about that. Anyway, it's only just beginning, so you've got that to look forward to. Just—no more dating jerkasses, okay? Not that that's going to be a problem."

Noya nods, grinning. He looks at Asahi just in time for Asahi to turn back to him, and when their eyes meet, it's with all of the tenderness that Noya's been missing for the last six years. He reaches out a hand. Asahi takes it without hesitation. Beside them, Daichi and Suga have linked pinkies, and Tanaka is smiling with a rare softness that turns quickly wicked when they glance at him.

"Great, now I'm fifth-wheeling it," he says. "I guess I can accept that if you four continue to look this outrageously happy."

"We'll try," Daichi promises.

They part ways that evening with an excess of sentimentality that they all try to play off as inebriation. Suga and Daichi take the train, and Tanaka walks, disappearing into the night with a smirk and a wave. Asahi drives Noya back to the hotel. Noya plays with the radio the whole way, just for kicks—he's not afraid of having to fill the silence. Not with Asahi.

As soon as the door is shut behind them, they fall into each other with desperate hunger. Asahi kisses Noya against the wall for a deep, messy interlude before hiking him up into his arms and carrying him to the bed. They kiss like that for a long time. Noya drags Asahi closer and closer, fingers tangling in his hair, knees parted to accommodate his slim torso. Their hips don't touch. Whenever Noya wants to arch up against him, he recognizes the move as insecurity rather than arousal. He doesn't want to have sex. But there's no reason to be afraid of that, because Asahi isn't going anywhere.

"Love you," he pants. It's the first time he's said it that day, without a measure of last night's hysteria.

"I love you too," says Asahi.

And Noya believes it. Their intertwined legs. Asahi's palms pressed to his face; his open, tender mouth. Noya kisses him and kisses him and strokes the strong cords of Asahi's back muscles, resting below his smooth, pacifying weight. He's here. Asahi's here. And for the first time in ages, since they parted ways six years ago, Noya feels truly safe.

**Author's Note:**

> https://foyal.tumblr.com/


End file.
